You Are Feeling Sad, Again. May Your Poems Never End.

From hell, cold depression saturates your soul,
Filling you with sadness it can no longer hold.
It drips-cold, wet-from your tear-streaked nose
And refuses to evaporate; you're the victim it chose.

Record its effects, poetic as they are,
And find that they may be no more.
In writing some can whisk away
The sad that keeps them cold all day.

May that be the case for you
So when with your poetry you are through
You'll find your happiness anew.

by Kathlene Ann

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